Not Always the Enemy
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: It's not always the enemy...


Everything had gone wrong from the get go, Gilan thought gloomily, shaking out his numb hands.

For one thing, the weather was cold, sharp and miserable, topped with a brisk wind. For another thing, they had been out here for hours, unable to find the delinquent, and the cold was beginning to take its toll. Dusk had fallen, making visibility difficult.

And lastly, there was that minor issue of not being able to find Halt.

Experimentally flexing his fingers, the boy grimaced at their stiffness and hoped he would not have to use his bow in the near future; right now, Gilan was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to pull back the string. It was Gilan who suggested that they split up to cover more ground, with Halt reluctantly agreeing that it might be the best option. Internally cursing his idea, Gilan sighed, admitting that he had shifted from miscreant hunting to Halt hunting.

"Halt!" The boy yelled, knowing that Halt would be upset at his drawing attention to himself, but really not caring anymore. The boy was tired, cold, and maybe just a little bit afraid. "Halt!"

There was no answer except for the whistling of the wind through the trees. Impatiently blinking back tears of frustration, Gilan trudged on.

The coppery smell of blood registered a second before the dark lump did, barely visible in the darkening light. His hand flying to his saxe knife, the boy cautiously approached. "Halt?"

The lump wasn't Halt; it was the criminal they had been tracking. He wouldn't be bothering anyone anymore, Gilan thought grimly, swallowing back bile as he took in the size of the bloodstain. A chest wound had killed the man, Gilan idly noted, but it was the familiar knife still in the wound that drew more of his attention. Halt's throwing knife, buried almost hilt deep.

"But why did you leave your knife?" Gilan murmured with gritted teeth as he yanked the weapon free. Standing back up, the young Ranger glanced around, searching for some clue as to where his teacher could have gone. Tears again welled in Gilan's eyes. Seventeen year old apprentice Ranger or not, he was still standing in a cold, dark forest, holding a blood stained knife, and feeling terribly, terribly alone.

Several steps later, barely visible in the lighting, was a splatter of blood. His breath catching, Gilan's pace quickened, a small spark of hope growing in him. He had _something_ ; and right now, even a vague splatter was enough.

"Halt!" Gilan called. "Where are you, Halt?"

The boy wasn't sure of how long he was on the move, calling out Halt's name, eyes flicking desperately through the trees. Despair was again beginning to pool in his stomach when he finally saw the familiar figure up ahead.

Gilan's voice died in his throat as he dashed forward on numb legs toward the lurching figure. Something was off; Halt wasn't moving quickly, not at that halting, staggering pace, and the apprentice reached him easily.

"Oh, Halt," Gilan breathed in relief as he got closer, reaching out a hand to stop and turn Halt toward him.

Halt's entire body immediately tensed at the contact, his instinctive reaction time was as lightning fast as ever.

Gilan barely had time to cry out before the best Ranger he knew whirled on him, saxe plunging forward.

The boy's own incredible reaction time was the only thing that saved him from getting Halt's saxe knife buried in his chest. Even with his evasion, Gilan still stumbled with a hiss as the knife found its mark in his upper arm.

Okay, that hurt. _My fault_ , Gilan berated himself even has he clutched at the injury. He'd been stupid, sneaking up on Halt when he obviously wasn't all there. Still, he had learned his lesson. Keeping a wary eye on his teacher, who had gone hunched again and was pushing the heel of his hand into his forehand as if he had a headache, Gilan dug into his pocket to retrieve a large handkerchief. Black spots blinking in his vision as he pulled the fabric tight with with fingers and teeth, Gilan was unable to stop the whimper of pain that brushed through his lips.

Halt's head tilted at the sound, ever in tune with his apprentice's pain, even in his distant state.

Riding out a wave of vertigo, Gilan dropped to his knees, breathing heavily through his nose. Alright. He was fine. A little nauseous and weak, yes, but good... Gosh, that hurt.

Staggering back to his feet, the apprentice Ranger again approached his teacher, this time more cautiously. "Halt?" he murmured coaxingly, trying to mask the tremble in his voice. "It's me. Gilan."

Halt's hand dropped, and he turned, his dark eyes still glazed and unfocused, but still trying to seek Gilan out. Encouraged, the boy continued. "It's alright, Halt. You got him. It's alright now."

The dark eyes blinked, clearing slightly. "Gil?"

At being recognized, a wave of true relief finally washed through the boy. "Yes. Let's go home, yeah?"

Halt's gaze slid past him, squinting into the darkness. "The man... think I got him, but..." Halt scrubbed at his forehead again.

"You did; it's over," the boy reassured him again, putting a hand on his arm and beginning to guide him through the trees. Halt's eyes shifted again, landing on the blood stained handkerchief around his apprentice's arm.

"What happened... you alright?" the Ranger asked, concern creasing his face again. Gilan shook his head, giving a breathless laugh despite himself.

"It's nothing. Ran into a tree branch."

"Clumsy," Halt murmured in response. "Be more careful."

"Sure thing," Gilan answered, still keeping a hand on his mentor. "You're the one who's head got knocked around, though."

Halt hummed in response, patting his scabbard, Halt suddenly twisted. "I don't have my knives. Where're my knives?"

"I got them. Don't worry."

Halt calmed again. Several minutes of silence, then, "What are we doing out here? It was your idea, wasn't it."

Gilan sighed. "We were tracking someone, remember?"

"Oh... Wait. Where are my knives?" Turning to look at his apprentice again, the man again saw the red stained fabric around the boy's arm. "Gil, you're bleeding!"

"I'm okay, Halt," Gilan answered simply, and really, he was.

* * *

The familiar cabin couldn't have been a more welcome sight. Gilan's arm was throbbing and his vision was swaying by the time he locked the door behind them, but he still managed to steer Halt into his bedroom and deposit him onto his bed. Yanking off the older man's boots, Gilan peered for a second at Halt's head. There was some blood matting his hair, but it was clotted; fine for now. Gilan would deal with that when he was in better shape himself. For now, Halt needed to sleep. Drawing the covers up one handed, Gilan left the room.

It took several minutes before Gilan was able to gather up the energy to work on his own wound. Swaying as he stood, Gilan collected the medical supplies - water, disinfectant, clean tunic, bandages... his gaze lingered for a moment on the needle and thread. He'd never had to stitch himself before. Glancing at his trembling hands, the boy shook his head and closed the cabinet back up. Bandages would have to do.

Settling himself back at the table, Gilan winced as he unknotted the now stiff, crusty handkerchief. The cut was still bleeding sluggishly, and he hissed as he peeled the slightly stuck fabric off. Cleaning it with water, Gilan was able to swallow the sounds of pain that threatened to push through his throat. Uncapping the disinfectant before he lost his nerve, Gilan gritted his teeth and poured it over the gash.

He was unable to hold back the yelp, his vision greying. He sagged forward, his face resting on the table. With fumbling hands, he reached for the gauze, grabbing a handful to hold against the wound.

The bleeding had stopped by the time Gilan could raise his head off the table without black filling his vision. Reaching for the long bandage, the boy wrapped the whole pad in place, the end result clumsy but enough. Pulling the clean tunic on, Gilan finally stood.

Peering into Halt's bedroom again revealed the Ranger still sound asleep. Satisfied, Gilan finally sagged onto the sofa, yanking the draped blanket onto himself. His exhaustion finally overtook him, and Gilan's eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

Sunlight was streaming through his window by the the time Halt woke. His head ached, but he seemed to be in somewhat working order. The Ranger vaguely remembered Gilan leading him through the woods, but he still was unsure of the exact events - how he had ended up with a pounding headache and tucked into bed.

Swinging himself out of the bed, the Ranger was pleased that he was fairly steady; at least, he wasn't seeing double, which was always a win. Slowly, carefully walking into the living room, the Ranger winced as he saw where the sun was - completely past morning, and well into the afternoon.

He almost missed his unmoving apprentice, curled asleep on the sofa. "Gilan?" Halt called softly, as not to startle him awake.

It took a few seconds, but Gilan's eyes slowly blinked open. His gaze landing on his mentor, the boy broke in a smile as he sat up. "Halt! Are you feeling better?"

"My head hurts, but I'll live. What happened?"

Gilan winced, choosing his words carefully. "You got the man; I found him with your throwing knife in him. He must have managed to whack your head with something - you weren't making a ton of sense. I walked you home, tucked you in, and here we are." The boy grinned cheerily. Almost too cheerily.

"Where did my knife end up?" Halt asked, looking around and not seeing it. "You did grab it, right?"

Gilan nodded. "They're both on the porch... I was tired. I didn't clean them yet." The boy hastily climbed to his feet. "I'll get to it right now." Gilan began folding the blanket one handed, trying to keep it nonchalant.

"You shouldn't leave weapons dirty," the Ranger scolded, then paused, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong with your arm?"

Gilan froze. "Nothing," he answered, internally cringing at the lie. Like he would be able to hide the injury from Halt; it would be at least a week before it was anywhere near functional, longer before it was back to where it had been.

Halt raised an eyebrow and sarcastically replied, "Right. Because you always use just your left arm - why wouldn't you?"

"I just hurt it a little," Gilan said, his tone pleading. "It's fine." To prove his point, the boy lifted it - and immediately paled.

"Sit and let me see," was all Halt said, moving toward his apprentice, his headache all but forgotten. Defeated, Gilan lowered back onto the couch, rolling up the sleeve of his tunic.

Inspecting the white wrapped arm, Halt hissed through his teeth. "What did you do, Gilan? It looks like you ran into the man before I did... you didn't, did you?" Halt added as an afterthought, worry sharpening his face.

"No," Gilan answered quickly, honestly. "You had long killed him by the time I found him."

Halt nodded, slowly, "Yes. With the throwing knife..." the Ranger trailed off. "You said both knives were dirty."

Gilan froze, realizing his mistake.

"I _know_ I didn't use the saxe on him..." Halt suddenly went silent and still, and Gilan swallowed, because his teacher _knew._

"Halt..." he said helplessly as his teacher, expressionless, stood and strode to the porch.

The man was pale as he came back in a moment later, saxe knife in hand. Dried blood still covered the normally pristine blade - Gilan's blood.

"It was my fault, alright?" Gilan said, rising to his feet. "I could see you weren't all there, and I sneaked up on you - you thought I was attacking you. It makes sense - "

"Don't," Halt said softly, dropping the knife with a clatter. "Don't." Moving to his armchair, Halt sunk into it. "How bad?"

"Not bad," the boy answered honestly. "It's not even that deep."

"I could have killed you," Halt said, his tone rough, his forehead resting on his hands.

Gilan shrugged. "You didn't. You didn't mean it, alright? I know that."

Halt's shoulders trembled for a second. The knowledge that he had _sunk his knife into_ his apprentice ripped into him. He had _hurt_ his apprentice.

Again, Gilan spoke. "I made the mistake, not you." Halt sat silent for a moment, and Gilan moved to retrieve more clean gauze. "It's too late to stitch, but... I don't think I did a very good job on my own. Could you help me rewrap it?" That was Gilan; offering an olive branch.

Halt nodded. Of course he would. When the wound was again wrapped, Halt gritting his teeth at the damage but saying nothing, the Ranger stood up and moved into the kitchen to make breakfast - his head was throbbing, but he refused to acknowledge it.

At the table, Gilan steepled his fingers under his chin. "So... does this mean I don't have to do chores this week?"

The familiar banter the boy offered had many undertones - _caring, forgiveness,_ an _It's okay, Halt._

They both knew this language, and Halt answered in kind - with a slightly more gentle than normal swat on the head and customary roll of the eyes.

They would be alright.

* * *

 **Happy Thanksgiving to those in the U.S!**

 **Reviews are muse food.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


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